Stolen Victory
by Harliquin
Summary: *SPOILERS* One-shot. Set after the end of the game. Dorian can only watch as his one and only friend sinks further into herself, having won the battle but lost her victory. (Vague summary so as not to give away spoilers!).


"How in the Maker is anyone supposed to sleep in this racket?" Dorian groaned, having spent the last two hours tossing and turning in bed, the sheets gradually twisting tighter around his legs. The rain lashed at the windows, the heavy winds making the frames shudder and creak, lightening piercing across the sky in flashes so bright he had to squeeze his eyes shut to ignore them.

With a sigh, he untangled himself from the sheets, swung himself around and heaved himself out of bed, throwing a robe around himself as the cold air hit him like a blizzard.

Leaving his room, he was unsurprised to find Skyhold was silent except for the howls of the storm outside. It was gone midnight, and apparently everyone else was able to sleep through the next coming apocalypse that the storm was imitating outside.

Padding across the cold stone flooring, he crept down the stairs, guided only by the few lanterns left glowing, until he reached what had become his solitary space for peace.

The library.

A wave of peace brushed over him as he entered, as though walking through some invisible calming barrier. The tension in his shoulders dropped and rolled them out to ease the ache in his back. Though the rain still battered against the windows, it wasn't as loud here, the windows small and set into the thick walls more sturdily than in his room.

Grabbing the book on the table nearby, he was about to sit down in the padded armchair when a shuddered noise caught his attention. At first he was content to let it pass as the wind outside, but when it came again from inside he recognised the sound.

And it made him wince in pain to hear it.

Leaning over the railings, he peered down into the room below; it was quiet, shadowed, and filled a presence he wished wouldn't linger.

He braved his way down the curving set of stone stairs, running his hands over the walls to help guide him, until he walked through the doorway and into the darkness of the circular room beyond.

"Oh, you poor wretch," he said, his voice flat even when it should have echoed. "How long have you been in here?"

The slim woman hunched over the desk in the middle flicked her head towards him. "Not long."

Dorian folded his arms across his chest and pursed his lips, the curls of his moustache twitching.

She sighed and slumped into the chair beside the desk. "All night," she admitted finally.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" he asked, stepping towards her, but pausing when he was finally close enough to see the hollow, dark bags beneath her once bright green eyes.

"I don't know what else to do."

Dorian scanned the desk, a stone shard glowing atop it and casting a faint blue glow over everything it touched. It only served to make her look paler than she had already become.

"I thought you were going to get rid of all of this?" He swept an arm over the room.

She swallowed hard. "I was- I am, but what if…" she began. He arched an eyebrow, though he knew what she was going to say. "What if he needs this all again?"

Dorian licked his lips, unsure how to respond. He had a magical font at his fingertips, and yet he had never felt more powerless. His uselessness made his chest ache with a hollow pain, watching as her dulled eyes stared longingly over the papers, quills, and books left scattered on the light wood desk.

He stepped closer again, taking a knee before her on the chair. With gentle care he lifted her chin so as she faced him, and wasn't prepared for the pain that stared back at him through her eyes, piercing him like the lightening bolts still striking outside.

For a long moment they just sat in silence, staring at one another, until her brows pinched together and her eyes glistened in the blue glow.

Her voice broke through a ragged breath. "He's not coming back, is he?"

Dorian had to grip the arms of the chair just to be able to withstand the heartache the simple question had stirred in him. "No," he said. A simple reply that made her wince as it cut her.

She slumped forward, her head burying into the crook of his neck and he engulfed her in an embrace. He hugged her even closer, hoping he might be able to squeeze the pain out of her if he tried hard enough.

They remained like that for an hour as she sobbed and sucked in broken breaths, her hands clasping him tight. And he remained with her, unmoving, even as the tears soaked through his robe and her heartbreak seemed to leech into him and threaten to make him cry too.

He bit his lip to stop from doing so.

When he thought she could cry no more, she slumped back in the chair and rolled her head to stare at the desk.

"I thought he was real," she whispered, fingering a nearby paper with curled edges, her hand shaking a little. "I thought maybe it was my turn for something more."

Dorian frowned, a swell of anger burning within him. If he ever got his hands on that elf he'd… He let out a long sigh and placed his hands on her knees and she didn't even have the energy to look at him.

After all she'd done, after all she'd been through, she deserved happiness in her triumph over Corypheus. And yet here she was, lifeless and hurting.

That elf had not only stolen her heart, but he'd stolen her victory as well.


End file.
